


Dial V for Vendetta

by ladymdc



Series: 606 | 707 [11]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Another Story (Mystic Messenger), Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love at First Sight, MC is an OC, Mutual Pining, Mystery, POV Alternating, Protective 707 | Choi Luciel, Secrets, Self-Worth Issues, Serious 707 | Choi Luciel, Touch-Starved, Trust, Worldbuilding, ill-timed quips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2020-09-26 18:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20393929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymdc/pseuds/ladymdc
Summary: Everyone has a past; not everyone can change the future.





	1. A Growing Concern

**Author's Note:**

> Just a cliche Spy AU where Bond, Mission Impossible, & Archer intersect & everyone is a little older & a little less jaded (except for Rika on that last bit). The Another Story tag comes into play because I plan on using a lot of the information/plot surrounding Rika/Saejoong from both routes to build this.
> 
> Also, my [606 | 707 Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/miracook/playlist/0tfAdBX6L5u3xFdqXQUbn5?si=cR2kSof1RBG23UL1-0vI9A) for anyone who would like to check it out. It's inspo for the series, and things that may be still unwritten.

_ The Cambridge Times _  
_ Saturday, January 3rd, 2019 _  
FRONT PAGE

**CAMBRIDGE PROFESSOR HUIJUN LEE DIES IN CAR CRASH WITH WIFE AND SON **

Huijun Lee, Professor in Chemical Engineering and Biotechnology at Cambridge University whose research on biofuels led to the prediction that petroleum-based fuel could be eradicated within three decades, died on January 2nd along with his wife, Willow Lee, and son, Jinho Lee. 

According to the Cambridgeshire Police, a lorry crossed over into oncoming traffic on the Fen Causeway around 6:15 pm where it collided with the Lee’s vehicle head-on. Huijun and Willow Lee died at the scene, and their son, Jinho, a world-renowned cellist in the London Philharmonic Orchestra, succumbed to his injuries at the hospital a few hours later. 

“We are saddened to learn of the passing of Huijun, a distinguished engineer who has made tremendous scientific contributions,” said Cambridge Provost Michael Proctor, who is a professor of astrophysics at the university. “His passing is a loss for his colleagues at the university and for his field.”

His surviving daughter, Olivia Lee, has “lost much in the span of only a few hours, but will forever carry their infectious enthusiasm for new experiences and love of exploring ideas and generosity.” 

_ Article continued on page 4.  _

  


_ The Cambridge Times _  
_ Thursday, January 8th, 2019 _  
PAGE 3

**CAR CRASH DRIVER UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF DRUGS DIES IN HOSPITAL**

The driver of the lorry that killed a Cambridge University professor and his wife and son, 51-year-old Thomas Rallington, died of his injuries sustained from the horrific head-on crash. 

He was taken to hospital in a critical condition following the accident in the evening hours of Saturday, January 2nd, but never regained consciousness.

Officials say blood tests indicate Rallington was driving under the influence of an unspecified drug cocktail and was facing three counts of causing death by dangerous driving. 

_______________________________________________________________________________

**April 2019**

Faces appeared, names were exchanged, repetitive discussions were had; Olivia made no effort to find company, but she found herself constantly with it. Of course, she was polite, but she had zero interest in these people, just as they had zero interest in her. They only wanted to see how much of a threat Huijun Lee’s daughter was to such an old and monopolized industry.

“That is one of the problems,” commented the grey-haired man whose name she had not bothered to log away; his voice was as flat and emotionless as his dull grey eyes. 

“Application,” he then clarified as if it were necessary. 

“The same could be said of any technological advancement, and yet,” Olivia paused to give him a perfunctory smile, “here we are, enjoying about ten of them simultaneously.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Some innovations hinder more than they help.”

Money, it was a weakness in all men. Though by the pretentiously large diamonds on this man’s cufflinks, he hardly needed to worry about biofuels taking away from his precious material possessions in his lifetime. 

“I suppose that depends on your definition of hindering,” Olivia said mildly.

“Yes, you are right, quite right. Future generations would benefit tremendously from such innovation, but I have shareholders to consider. I hope you will understand.” 

The clutch tucked under her arm vibrated. “Yes, of course. It was a risk not everyone was able to take.”

“Not all of us have the standing C&R has,” he said, waving an apologetic hand. 

“Alas, no, but it would have been delightful to have had your support. Speaking of C&R, however, I should see if I can finally steal a moment from our gracious host. My partnership with them is why an invitation was extended to me, after all.”

The man tipped his chin, and Olivia allowed a quick, casual bow before moving past him. She then left the vaulted main hall, passing through the banquet room where tables laden with delicacies lined the walls, and out onto the balcony. Below, four orange trees stood sentinel around a reflection pool made from the local volcanic stone, a popular construction material on the South Korean island of Jeju. Across the dark water, slopes and wrinkles of terrain were covered by a sprawling orchard, and beyond that, perhaps about one-hundred metres out, was the wind-swept coastline. 

Olivia set her champagne flute down on the balustrade and plucked her mobile out her clutch.

_ [Unknown] There is a problem. _

_ [Olivia] What kind of problem are we talking about? _

_ [Unknown] The kind where you need to leave as soon as possible. _

_ [Unknown] You haven’t eaten or drank anything have you? _

Her head snapped up at a rustle of movement off to her right. No one was there as far as Olivia could see, but the balcony wrapped around the entire west side of the building so it was impossible for her to be sure. As she continued to listen a chilly spring breeze brought her the scents of fragrant, white flowers and the sea; she shivered. 

_ [Olivia] He wouldn’t dare eliminate me here. _

_ [Olivia] And you told me not to, so I haven’t. I’m starving by the way.  _

_ [Unknown] We’ll take care of that once you’re out of there, but he would, and he will. _

The manor was an architectural marvel. Massive concrete pilotis lifted the two-story building into the sky, allowing for an unobstructed view of the sea through panoramic glazing. For whatever reason, however, there was only one exit, a safety hazard, really, that lead underneath the structure. Located there was sheltered parking, accounting for the architects’ intention to leave as much of the surrounding environment as pristine as possible. 

_ [Olivia] I’m not sure how you expect me to manage that without being seen or breaking a leg. _

_ [Unknown] You can leave his home, but he doesn’t plan on letting you leave the island. _

_ [Olivia] And how does that make this situation any better? _

_ [Unknown] It gives us the opportunity to intervene.  _

She heard laughter, close, and glanced back reflexively. For an instant, she saw him, the man who saw her as a loose end. Their eyes made contact; it was brief and horrifying. It felt like she could not breathe, suspended in a moment of disbelief as a smile toyed at the corner of his mouth. Her only option was to smile back, so that was what Olivia did. 

At that, he began to extract himself from the small crowd around him. Olivia awaited his impending arrival, her anxiety mounting, and checked her new messages before deleting the conversation. One of many conditions regarding this odd alliance she had with Unknown.

_ [Unknown] What we found changes everything. _

_ [Unknown] Starting with our arrangement.  _

Olivia had barely managed to tuck her phone back into her bag when a voice, deep and refined, joined the light romantic music floating out of the soiree. 

“Ms. Lee, I see you have gravitated to the reason I built this house.” 

“And which is it, Prime Minister Choi, the view or the offered seclusion?” Olivia wondered, turning toward the Saejoong almost mechanically. This close, she could see how his smile crinkled rather attractively around his eyes. 

“In truth, both, though based on the question, it occurs to me that you may not be enjoying yourself."

“Nonsense,” said Olivia, countering the hint of concern in the observation with a smile of her own. “Everyone has been very engaging, even if they all secretly wish to see me fail.”

“You may think I am one of them, but I assure you, I’m not. When I find something troublesome to my livelihood, I remove it from the equation, not welcome it into my home.” Saejoong extended his hand; his grip firm. “It is a pleasure to see someone so bright, and to be frank, lovely, challenge the ways of the world.” 

It was apparent he was flattering her, which was incredible, if only because it made the situation that much more asinine. “You’re too generous.” 

“Only when it’s warranted,” he replied, leaning around her to retrieve her abandoned glass of champagne. This astonished Olivia, which was to say she astonished herself. The intent behind it was neither subtle nor wanted, but she allowed it despite how her instincts screamed at her to move away. She was his objective, the grand finale to his evening perhaps, though not in the way Saejoong was leading her to believe.

“Thank you.” Olivia took the offered glass; her alert mind fighting the necessity to wait for the opportune moment to excuse herself. “I must confess, I was reluctant to attend this event.”

“Oh?” The Prime Minister arched his dark eyebrows. 

“My inclusion struck me as out of place.”

“What you have accomplished takes a lot of nerve. I respect that. A lesser person would have given up.” Saejoong paused, sipped his drink, and looked at Olivia over the rim of the glass. He lowered it and spoke again. “The champagne, is it not to your liking?” 

“I’m sure it’s wonderful, it’s just that I am already exhausted,” she half-lied. Between the ever-present stress and jet lag from the long flight from London to Incheon, the need for sleep was only preceded by food. In spite of arriving early that morning, she had not managed much of either before needing to board another jet for the island. 

“At least C&R spared you the necessity of using commercial flights.”

“I agree; otherwise, I might not have made it here at all.”

“Which would have been a shame. I—“

“Pardon me, Mr. Prime Minister,” broke in a member of the security detail. “But Ms. Lee’s vehicle is ready.” 

“Leaving already?” Saejoong asked, studying her. 

“As I mentioned, I am exhausted.” Her words did not falter, even as her heart threatened to leap from her chest. 

He continued to hold her gaze, the unsettling moment magnified by silence. Finally, he said: “I suppose it is too late to change your mind anyway.”

Power tempted the weak as easily as it corrupted. What stood before her was nothing more than a killer whose status allowed his hands to remain clean. “Quite,” she said. “The island is beautiful, I regret that my time here is so short.”

“There will be other opportunities.”

She turned to look out over the sea. The circle was closing in on her. Conceivably, these could be her final moments. Shaking her head and briefly closing her eyes, Olivia lifted the flute to her lips and swallowed half of the champagne, wishing it were a stronger drink if it were to be her last. 

“We both know that is doubtful.”

“Indeed.” Saejoong frowned curiously. “Farewell, Ms. Lee.” 

“Farewell, Mr. Choi.” 

Olivia discarded her glass and fell in step behind the man, absently taking in the room. It was a black-tie affair; everyone conservatively dressed in expensive suits, including security and the waitstaff. Two gentlemen bowed as she passed, smiling slightly then looking pensive as they returned to their conversation spoken in soft, rapid Korean. 

At the entrance, a pair of dark walnut doors that lead to the staircase, her escort said, in English: “We have notified your flight crew that you are to be expected within the hour. Safe travels, Ms. Lee.” 

“Thank you,” replied Olivia, taking a deep breath before descending. 

Below, she stopped walking, a form of paralysis taking over her. Recessed lighting illuminated the area, but beyond the rows of cars on either side of her, darkness reigned. In front of her, ten metres of dead space separated her from an idling silver Bercedes; assumedly the same mid-size SUV she had arrived in. How stupid she had been to think he would not kill her here. The crowd upstairs that would privately celebrate her demise, the seclusion, the noise a few muted gunshots would be unable to penetrate. 

She looked over her shoulder at the man on her left flank. He had dark hair and steel-rimmed glasses with his hands clasped in front of him. It would be easy for him to draw an unseen weapon. 

Olivia felt sick. 

She gripped her clutch tighter in her hand, lifted her chin, and started toward the awaiting vehicle. There was little comfort in knowing she supposedly had allies in this. Unknown was merely that, an unknown. There would be no stopping a car from running her over or bringing down the jet that was to take her back to the mainland or poisoning her next meal. 

As her heels clicked against the ash-colored brick, Olivia’s every nerve was primed for a sound, a touch, and when it came, her will to survive took over.

_______________________________________________________________________________

_ Oh, fuck, _ was his only thought as pain shot across his face. Briefly, he bent over, trying to focus his vision and reject the agony. Then he thought it again. He whipped his head up, grimacing with pain, and looked at Olivia Ira Lee. She must have toppled over when he released her because she was on her knees and getting back up. In a moment, she would be standing and getting into the vehicle with her would-be killer. 

Fuck. 

Seven sprang for her, his body slamming hers back into the ground as muffled cracks came in quick succession. She let out a sharp cry of distress, then went silent. He sat up, feeling panic rise up in his chest, and yanked her upright to lean against the vehicle beside him. Time froze as her wide eyes met his. They were blue, impossibly blue, and despite the fear swimming in them, he was looking at a face of determination. 

Then his gaze dropped to the blood on her shoulder. It trickled down her arm, staining the white silk of her dress. 

Her full, ruby-red lips parted as if to speak and Seven gently shook his head; a silent rebuke. He drew his pistol from its holster and plucked the silencer from his inner jacket pocket. Once attached, he sprang again. This time straight up, steadying his arms on the side of the vehicle, the gun centered and aimed at the individual stepping out of the SUV. He fired three shots. 

The dead man hit the ground, and Seven ordered Olivia into the back seat and to stay out of sight. He climbed behind the wheel; the engine roaring as he sped down the drive.

“Fuck!” Seven said, finally letting the word of the day fly out of his mouth as a few more bullets embedded themselves into the back of vehicle and cracked into the glass. “Are you—“

“I’m fine,” said Olivia breathlessly. “Just get us the hell away from them.” 

The headlights in the distance behind them vanished within seconds of turning down an unmarked and unpaved road. As Seven sped along as quickly as the off-road vehicle would allow, choked sounds began to drift up from behind him. Olivia was injured, but he could not think about that. Not right now. He had to concentrate on his surroundings; take in every movement and glint of light, however slight, to ensure they were not followed. 

But then, he realized that Olivia was suppressing laughter. 

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m alive,” she managed before a peal of laughter escaped her; it was a little hysterical sounding. “No thanks to me.”

Seven smiled, the action pulling at the dull throbbing in his face. “I think you broke my nose,” he told her, which only made her laugh harder. 

“I am so sorry, but you scared the shit out of me. I mean, not literally,” Olivia added, and Seven laughed. “But almost.” 

“Likewise, so I guess that makes us even.”

When they stopped laughing, an unexpected quiet was left behind, and Seven reflexively glanced in the rearview mirror. However, Olivia was still laying down as instructed, and so he could not see her. 

“It really doesn’t,” she said, and Seven could hear the strain finally creep into her voice. 

He had been doing this for longer than most. Sneaking into places to collect information was something he had done a thousand times before and would do a thousand times again. Except this time was different. It was so very different because of her. Because he had used a beautiful, brilliant stranger’s pain to distract and divert. 

A single decision that was like a pebble dropped into a pond. One tiny thing that had created ripples that became waves that became tsunamis. Seven had selfishly destroyed her future, and he would do whatever necessary to give Olivia a fraction of it back. 

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“It’s the least I could do for dragging you into this mess.” Then Seven asked the first thing he could think of before she could refute his claim. “How’s your shoulder?” 

“It hurts.” 

“Of course it does,” he said with a sigh, then shouldered off his jacket. “Here, put pressure on it with this, and rest, if you can. Once we get to the boat, we’ll get you fixed up, ok?” 

“Ok.” 

Silence returned between them. Seven let the minutes pass, but the sobs he anticipated never came. Instead, her breathing turned slow and even, at least until the dirt road became so filled with rocks, no typical vehicle could make it. Luckily, this one was top of the line and heavy enough to roll into the sea to be lost forever, which would be happening without also becoming Olivia’s watery tomb as the Prime Minister had planned. 

“Can I sit up now?”

“Yes,” Seven said, knowing he could not wait any longer, needing to see for himself that she was, in fact, alright. “We need to walk from here anyway.” 

As he shifted the SUV into park, Olivia rose into his line of sight slowly, gingerly. Then she met his gaze in the rearview mirror. 

“So, Unknown tells me you’re 707. Is that what I should call you?” 

Seven blinked, surprised to learn that she had been texting his brother during their journey. “Or just Seven if you prefer.”

Moments like this seemed to blur in his memory, a face seen and a lie given before disappearing from their lives in a matter of seconds. It was better that way, regardless of the situation, but over the past few months, Olivia had caught his interest beyond the utilitarian purpose of helping him expose the Prime Minister’s crimes. And his interest, once piqued, was a very hard thing to shake.

The next thing Seven knew, he was pushing the wig off and saying: “But my name is Luciel. Luciel Choi.”

“It’s nice to put a name with a face,” she said, a slight smile gracing her lips. “Especially when I owe them my life.”

Seven shook his head, unable to pull his eyes from hers and while he might not know it yet, he would never be able to look away again.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone curious, you can find Olivia’s face claim: [here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1A1b_wv5acoOlebleSAOjgsoLlH8zh9vs/view?usp=sharing) & [here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1XEOKweC_6NWJYoiJQhsu5y_HurBNuKi-/view?usp=sharing) ❤️


	2. The Principle of Causality

Moonlight burned whitely through the world; bright as day. It turned everything pale and colorless, except for his eyes. The brilliant molten gold was an unsettling point of similarity with the man who wanted her dead. Olivia would never forget those eyes, remembering all too clearly the way they had bored into hers. Then she realized, of course, that she would never forget Luciel’s either. 

Something was flickering in them, something she could not quite put her finger on. Especially now, when she yet again held his eyes with her own. Luciel looked at her, not invasively as the Prime Minister had as if displeased with being unable to read her thoughts, but just perhaps curious as to what they might be. Much as Olivia did not know Luciel, she trusted him. The idea that had occurred without making a conscious decision was an unpleasant one, but given the circumstances, not surprising. 

She only tore her gaze away when movement off to the right caught her attention. A boat angled toward the dilapidated dock with the engines cut to reduce noise and wake. There were no running lights. 

“That’s our ride.”

“I figured as much. And what about this one?”

Luciel looked out across the water. “The tide has already started to come in, but I’m hoping that dock will hold so we can get it all the way underwater.”

“We should just leave it here on the beach. Put a bow on it.” Olivia licked her lips and glanced down. Her phone was clutched in her hand again. It was sticky, smeared with dried blood. She dropped it aside and wiped her hand off on her dress. 

Then Olivia closed her eyes and allowed her head to loll back. Pain without the adrenaline surge of earlier was harder to handle.

“Let that asshole deal with a backseat full of my DNA.”

He gave a low laugh. “As tempting as that is, I can’t.” 

“So you’re killing me off instead of him.”

There followed a long silence as empty as her future. 

“Perfect,” Olivia muttered, then swallowed bitterly.

After a minute, she lifted her head and found Luciel twisted around, staring at her intently. She had not heard him shift in the seat, which was mildly disconcerting. When he continued to make no reply, Olivia raised an eyebrow. 

His expression turned pensive and worried. “Are you alright?”

Olivia laughed. She had gotten a lot closer to dying than she cared to acknowledge, and having such a question directed at her when she was clearly not was just strangely hilarious to her.

“Well, no,” she said. “I think I’ve stopped the bleeding so it can’t be worryingly lethal, but I’ve lost motor functions in part of my hand.” 

Olivia’s voice was shaking as she finished speaking, and she was suddenly on the verge of tears. As she had made that confession, it abruptly stopped being funny and started being traumatic and far too close. The bullet was embedded in her left shoulder just under her clavicle, only a handful of inches from her heart. She pressed the back of her good hand to her mouth and looked away.

Luciel gave a low sigh. “I am so sorry,” he said, then abruptly got out of the vehicle, leaving her alone.

Olivia was so tired of being alone. 

When she could vaguely hear voices a few minutes later, she turned back. The world kept right on rotating long after she had stopped moving. Olivia shook her head, trying to clear it and stay focused. 

The newcomer was extraordinarily tall and had long hair pulled back into a low bun. He wore dark trousers, a long-sleeved shirt, and gloves; immediately catching sight of Olivia’s movement. He stared at her, his expression unreadable, at least until Luciel uttered something he obviously did not care to hear. 

Suddenly, the man glared at Luciel, a mixture of stunned and enraged. He said something, gesturing sharply, then brushed past Luciel and began to approach.

As the door opened, Olivia managed to angle herself in preparation to exit then hesitated. There was a small stretch of severely rocky shoreline between her and the dock. She had no idea how she was going to navigate her way there in her current state.

“I’ll carry you,” said the man, having apparently arrived at the same conclusion. His voice was soft, controlled, and she understood that it was not a request. He spoke with authority. “My name is Stark.” 

“I’m Olivia.” 

Stark nodded his head infinitesimally. Then he stepped closer, moving slowly and gauging her reaction. He gently removed Luciel’s suit jacket from her shoulder and Olivia winced as it pulled free from the dried blood. Then Stark leaned down to slip his left arm around her waist and lifted her up into his arms.

Despite his caution, the movement made her entire left side throb painfully. It was as though there was some form of pressure threatening to crack through her shoulder. It was agonizing. Olivia buried her face in Stark’s chest as she squeezed her eyes shut, determined not to start crying. 

He froze. “Alright?”

“Alright.”

As he began walking, Olivia tore her mind away from the pain and focused on her other senses. She could taste the salt in the air, hear leaves shift in the breeze and waves wrapping around the rocks. She could smell leather and cigarettes. 

When he set her down on a cushioned bench in the console cabin, Olivia grimaced at the way Stark scowled as his light brown eyes trailed over her, cataloging her injury.

“I can’t do much for you besides bandage the wound properly,” he told her, his Korean was similarly accented to hers. “Cleaning it will make it start bleeding again. Once we depart, it’ll take us three to four hours to reach the mainland and get you the medical attention you need.” 

Olivia nodded cooperatively, then tucked herself into the corner to keep herself upright. She was tired. 

She was so tired.

Stark sighed and turned away. “I’ll be back.”

It seemed like only a moment had passed, but she was suddenly being roused by hand firmly gripping her right forearm and lightly shaking.

“Olivia.” 

She pried her eyes open, and she repeatedly blinked until her vision stopped blurring. The luminescent glow of the various gauges spread out across from her painted the space a gentle blue-green. Luciel was squatted down in front of her. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something. 

She didn’t know what to say. She let her gaze wander over Luciel as she tried to think of something to say.

His steel-rimmed frames had been replaced by a striped pair, and he had a slight black eye. There was also blood down the front of his shirt and streaked across his right sleeve. Olivia felt her stomach drop.

“I’m sorry.” 

“I think that’s supposed to be my line.” He sounded faintly amused. 

“We can share it.”

He chucked. 

She glanced around. There was no land in sight. “Did I pass out?” 

Luciel gave a short nod and removed his hand from her arm to gesture vaguely at her. “We figured it was probably for the best.”

Olivia blinked and tilted her chin downward. At some point, while she was asleep, she had been half-assed cleaned up and her wound dressed. The pain had stopped, and yet it hadn’t. It was still coiled inside, throbbing dully along with the beat of her heart, but perhaps her nerves were just too shot to process it in full. 

She tentatively flexed her fingers on her left hand. There was a burning sensation. Only her pinky and ring finger cooperated; her middle finger gave a half-hearted attempt. 

“Probably,” she agreed. 

“I have something you can wear if you’d like to get out of—that.” 

Olivia swallowed. Her throat was dry. “What? You don’t like my dress?” 

Luciel laughed, an unexpected joyful sound that seemed to brighten up the entire room, and Olivia smiled reflexively. 

“I’ll take that as a no,” she said. 

His cheeks faintly flushed, and his eyes dropped to the floor. 

”Come on,” he said, standing and holding his hand out to her. 

Olivia hesitated, watching the way his golden eyes shone in the dim light. Then she drew a quick breath and placed her hand in his. 

Once on her feet, the room swam. 

Luciel caught her by the elbow.

“I didn’t eat much today,” she admitted. “I doubt that's helping any.”

“No, I imagine it’s not,” he murmured, looking at her with concern. 

She was thinner than she’d ever been. Her cheeks were hollowed, and her collarbones stuck out sharply. She bruised easily.

Stress had whittled her away, bit by bit.

Olivia sighed and extracted her hand from his to turn around, placing her hand on the dash to keep steady. “Could you?” 

She heard him exhale slowly before hands strayed to the zipper on her dress, working it open. 

It crossed her mind that maybe she should have just stayed in her blood-stained gown, but Olivia pushed the thought away. She trusted him. She knew she trusted him not to hurt her. Plus, she just wanted to feel normal in some capacity. 

Instinctively, Olivia glanced back as she pulled the single strap of her asymmetrical neckline off her right shoulder. She found Luciel staring pointedly away and holding up a full-zip hoodie. He draped it over her shoulders. It swallowed her; the bottom of the jacket lightly brushed against her upper thighs. Olivia let the dress fall, then put her right arm through the sleeve and gripped the fabric tightly around herself before facing him. 

“I can’t—I can’t zip it up.” 

Luciel obliged even though his cheeks had darkened considerably and he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world other than where he currently was. 

“I’m sorry,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Don’t apologize to me. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

Olivia stared at him in silence for a minute. He looked away from her. 

“Why not?” she finally asked.

“Because I’m the one who has to apologize, and I—” Luciel ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know where to begin.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t, and I’ll—I’ll explain everything once you’re on your feet again.”

“I’m on my feet right now.”

His mouth quirked at the corner. “And you shouldn’t be,” Luciel said, carefully putting his hands on her to help her to sit. “There’s a bed, below deck, but it would be difficult for you to get in and out of there with your injury.” 

“This is fine,” Olivia told him, meaning it. 

The console cabin was enclosed, warm. Plus, being saved by Luciel had profoundly affected her. 

She had known she was being used. There had been no promises she would remain unharmed. 

She had gone along with it anyway. 

And now, Olivia didn’t know how to be detached about the fact Luciel had put himself in danger to ensure she survived. 

Grimacing, she carefully maneuvered her left arm into a semi-comfortable position as she settled back into the corner. Luciel straightened, withdrawing his hands and stepping back until he was leaning against the opposite wall, directly behind the wheel.

“Can you eat?” he asked after a moment. 

Her stomach twisted, roiling unexpectedly at the thought. “Maybe later.” 

His mouth flattened into a thin line. “Alright. Just rest then,” he said, then pulled a blanket up over her shoulder and gently tucked it around her body.

“Thank you,” she murmured. 

Luciel didn’t say anything.

Olivia fell asleep breathing in the scents lingering on the hoodie. Citrus, oakmoss, and the sun.

_______________________________________________________________________________

The boat was a Skout 350 LXF. A blend of the best aspects of a high-performance, deep-sea fishing vessel, including a double-stepped hull, and a high-end cruiser. The 350’s triple engines kicked out a top speed of 110 kph, and the luxury features included top-side comforts, such as a sun lounge, teak flooring, and a state of the art stereo system. Below deck, the cabin had just shy of 2 meters of headroom and all the amenities of an executive hotel suite, like a microwave and a towel warmer. 

It was a gift to himself. As were most things Seven owned. 

He also owned several off-shore accounts under several identities, but assets such as this were easier to liquidate. By the time Olivia had recovered enough, he would be down several possessions, but everything would be in order for her to begin a new life. 

It was the least he could do.

The problem was, while this was the most obvious solution, it was not a permanent one. 

Yes, it would be simple enough to stage her death at this point in the game. However, even if she were presumed dead by the world, Saejoong would know otherwise. 

The Prime Minister was ruthless. Driven to succeed. And Seven knew from personal experience that Saejoong would never let this go. Especially now that it was clear Olivia had gotten closer to the truth than he had probably realized. Hiding her would only exacerbate his determination to dispose of her, and ultimately hamper Seven’s ability to prevent it. 

As Seven stood at the wheel, he thoroughly sifted through the rest of his options. When he’d eliminate one, he’d move on to the next, continuing his search for something strategically sound. 

In this, he was also driven to succeed. 

Eventually, Seven made a decision. Only then did he allow himself to look over at Olivia, who was still sleeping. 

After her family had passed away, she had chopped off her waist-length hair, so the uneven ends just barely brushed against the tops of her shoulders. The dark tresses were perfectly imperfect and messy, black-tie affair be damned. She was thin. 

Too thin. 

He glanced away, his throat tightening slightly. 

Was what happened inevitable? Or had he caused it? If he hadn’t, would there have been some way to prevent it? Or would she already be dead? 

He didn’t know.

He could only obsess over the possibilities.

He felt worse than he ever had before. It was probably the only reason Vanderwood hadn’t flayed him within an inch of his life.

Seven then wistfully stared up at the full moon. He had always loved the moon. The monthly evolution and subtle beauty of its predictability. It was so far away, too bad he couldn’t travel there and start over. 

He sighed and looked at Olivia again. It was impossible to predict what she would want to do once he told her the truth. He wondered if she would grow to hate him. It wouldn’t matter, Seven reminded himself. 

He didn’t matter. 

Seven withdrew his phone from his pants pocket and only hesitated a moment before opening his messages. He couldn’t ignore them any longer. 

_ [Ray] A surgeon has been secured. _

_ [Ray] I’ve sent a vehicle to pick her up at these coordinates.  _

_ [Ray] 35.02, 128.97 _

_ [Ray] It’s a public beach, but it’s the best I could do. _

_ [Ray] I know you didn’t want V involved, but at this point, he has to be. _

_ [Ray] I’m sorry brother. _

_ [Seven] No need. I understand. I’ll deal with him whenever I make it back. _

Despite having left his brother’s messages unanswered for hours, Ray’s reply was almost immediate. 

_ [Ray] Where are you going? _

_ [Seven] With her.  _

_ [Ray] Good. _

_ [Ray] I’ll tell V, it should appease him some.  _

_ [Seven] That’s not why I’m doing it. _

_ [Ray] I know. _

Seven had spent months watching her, getting to know her by reconciling the psychological profile they had compiled with her behavior. Olivia seemed to radiate determination. A trait borne from the need to prove herself. To feel like she could shine on her own, and not be defined by the successes of her family. 

There was more to her, of course, so much more, and Seven felt his heart drop a little at the recollection he had helped bury it all under bitterness and spite. 

As they came within sight of land, Seven cut the engines. The vessel bobbed gently in the sea’s crosscurrents; Vanderwood emerged from below deck almost immediately. 

“I need you to take my baby girl home,” Seven said, petting her attentively for emphasis. “Tuck her into her slip all nice like.” 

There was a flash of irritation in his eyes, his lip curled. “No.” 

“Okie. Ray has already set everything up for Olivia anyway. We can just drop her off on the dock and point her in the right direction. She’s wounded, and only God knows the last time she’s eaten anything, but never mind that. She’s made it this far, surely that counts for something.” 

Vanderwood’s eyes narrowed. 

A smile ghosted over Seven’s lips. “Once she’s released, do you suppose she’ll live another week?”

He exhaled through his teeth. “Fine.”

“Yay! BRB. I need to change.” 

Vanderwood ground his teeth together, setting his jaw as Seven quickly slipped past him.

The door had barely shut behind him before the engines came back online. Seven put on clean clothes and his favorite boots and placed his and Olivia’s blood-stained ones in a plastic bag. Then he stashed it in a bathroom cabinet to deal with later. While he was there, Seven gently fingered his nose. It was slightly swollen, and one nostril was clogged with blood. 

It was probably broken. 

Her palm strike had come like a bolt out of the blue. His mouth curved at the recollection. It had been a good move, and in hindsight, incredibly deserved.

Seeing her cornered by the Prime Minister had filled him with a sort of reckless abandonment of reason. If he had been calmer and hadn’t felt personally responsible for her predicament, he would have thought everything through before setting things in motion. 

He would have waited. 

He would have introduced himself. 

He would have gotten her out unharmed. 

Seven turned away from the mirror, grabbed his bag, and went back up on deck. Vanderwood eyed him. Judgmental, as always. 

“Don’t forget to read her a bedtime story.” 

“Shut. Up. Zero Seven.” 

Seven snorted and squatted down in front of Olivia as they neared the dock. After several failed attempts at waking her, he brushed her hair aside to press the back of his fingers to her forehead. She wasn’t feverish, but she was alarmingly cold. 

He hesitated then carefully picked Olivia up, but not carefully enough because her entire body flinched, and she emitted a weak sound.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Seven said, still turning away to disembark. 

“My arm feels like it’s on fire,” she said. The words were vaguely slurred, giving the sentence an irregular lilt, as though her mouth wouldn’t quite cooperate with her. Her head rolled back a moment before she moved it to rest against his shoulder. Her eyes remained shut.

“Just a little longer, Olivia. Stay conscious for me.” 

“I don’t want to,” she said, a tear tracking down her cheek. “I’m tired.”

Seven swallowed hard. “I know. I know you’re tired, and I’m so, so sorry for everything that’s happened, but it’ll get better. You won’t be alone in this anymore.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Olivia was silent for several seconds before she gave a low sigh. “Alright.”

As the driver sped along to their destination, Seven felt her slip away from him, but he continued to hold on, determined to keep his promise even if she didn’t believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beautiful thing about AUs is you can deconstruct your media and pull canon pieces together however you chose to build a new world. In this work, that starts with fixing whole 'separate the twins' thing, because in my opinion, the reasoning behind it was terribly weak. Obviously, as I move forward, I'll back-build as well to lay out a solid foundation for this thing to stand on.


	3. A Focal Point

When Olivia regained consciousness, she dazedly realized she had no idea where she was. She was too tired to care. In fact, the soft mattress and silky warmth of the sheets would have been enough to lull her back to sleep if the left side of her body didn’t feel restricted and sore.

She carefully pushed herself upright to examine herself.

The clothes she was wearing were large and smelled vaguely familiar, but her left arm was in a sling, and her wrist was braced. She stared down in abject horror for several seconds before recalling that she had been shot. Shot because she had panicked, which was hardly one of her finer moments, but Olivia had been almost certain she was going to die when Luciel had laid his hand on her. Tentative as the touch had been.

She shifted her shoulder and hissed faintly. Then Olivia tried flexing her fingers and found that half her hand was still unresponsive. Tears welled up in her eyes. She swallowed hard and clamped her hand over her mouth, determined to stop herself from sobbing. 

After a minute or so, it felt like she could breathe again, and Olivia finally noticed she was not alone. When she looked over at Luciel, he glanced away. He had been watching her from his seat by the door near the foot of the bed. 

“Nerve damage,” Luciel said in an empty tone, staring at the far wall. His jaw rolled slightly.

Olivia had known, but she still felt a sharp loss at the confirmation.

She felt sure she already knew the answer to her next question too. Olivia forced it out anyway. 

“Is it permanent?“

Luciel met her eyes, took a breath, and said: “Not necessarily.”

It was more than she had hoped for.

“That’s good,” she said. 

Luciel nodded dully and looked away again. “You were lucky. If the bullet had entered two centimeters more to the right, it would have hit your brachial artery, and you would have bled out in a matter of minutes. Instead, it only nicked your brachial plexus, which is a network of nerves that extends from the spinal cord, through the neck, over the first rib, and into the armpit. It supplies nerve function to the chest, shoulder, arm, and hand.”

He cleared his throat. “Damage to it does not tend to improve with time. Odds are you will require surgery. The average interval between injury and operation is about seventeen weeks. For you specifically, it will depend on how quickly you recover and how long it takes for the extent of the damage to become fully apparent. In the meantime, you can expect loss of movement or weakness in the arm, and there is a chance the nerve damage in your hand could be progressive, extending to your middle finger and up your wrist.”

“Additionally, you’ll likely experience causalgia since you said it felt like your arm was on fire at one point. It is a severe burning sensation caused by injury to a peripheral nerve. Pain medication will not do much for it, but I have some for you just in case you also have reflex sympathetic dystrophy syndrome, which is a disorder that causes lasting pain in the limb—” He abruptly seemed to realize he was rambling and cut himself off. 

Luciel was silent for several seconds. Then he sighed and suddenly looked so exhausted, Olivia thought he might just slump over and fall asleep. 

“So—surgery will be our only hope at setting things right,” he finally said.

Olivia stared wide-eyed at him.

_ “It’ll get better. You won’t be alone in this anymore.” _

_ “I promise.” _

She had thought she’d dreamt it. She could not fathom how keeping her around fit strategically, especially now that she was compromised. 

And damaged.

Olivia hadn’t wanted to die, realistically or hypothetically, but she also did not want to be a burden. Luciel owed her nothing. It was apparent he had his own reasons to expose the Prime Minister and was determined to succeed no matter the cost. For her, that was enough.

“And how will that work?” Olivia asked when his golden eyes met hers. 

“Suture repair or grafts,” he told her, shrugging a shoulder. “And nerve signals can be blocked if you do in fact have causalgia. Can you feel anything in the unresponsive fingers?” Luciel lifted a hand and tapped his thumb and ring finger together a few times for emphasis. 

That was not what she had been asking, but Olivia closed her eyes and slipped her fingers along them anyway. “I can tell there’s contact, it’s a vague sense of pressure, but without a sense of texture or temperature.”

Luciel looked down again. “I’ll find a specialist,” he said. 

“You mean to tell me you’re not one,” she said wryly. Luciel seemed to be considerably more knowledgeable about the possible extent of her injury than was necessary.

“Well, I am a genius.” The corner of his mouth quirked upwards for a moment before it fell away. “But no, I simply had some time to do a little research.” 

“Seems like you’ve done more than a little research. How long have I been out?”

“A couple of days.”

Olivia cringed inwardly. “I’m sorry.”

He smiled briefly as he met her eyes. “You still have no reason to apologize to me. You were injured, then tack on all the stress, the lack of food, the anesthesia and pain medication, and it’s no wonder you checked out for a few days.”

“So was it a couple of days or a few days?”

“Does it matter?” Luciel asked, arching his eyebrows up. “You slept, which is obviously what you needed.”

“And what about what you need? You look tired,” she said. 

“I am tired, but I needed to make sure that you were alright,” he murmured, cheeks flushing as he turned his head aside. “Your blood loss was in the acceptable range, but given you’re underweight—I was worried.”

Heat rose to the hollows of her cheeks. She seemed to be wearing the same undergarments. They felt like what she had been wearing under her gown. However, at a minimum, someone had dressed her post-op. Based on how Luciel seemed unable to hold her gaze for more than a few moments at a time, Olivia suspected if it wasn’t him, he had at least been present. Had taken note of how part of her had died along with her family. Perhaps he expected her to be bothered, but it was a necessity quite removed from anything sexual. 

“I’m alright.” 

He pulled out his mobile. “I disagree,” Luciel said, typing away on the touch screen. “You need to eat something.”

Absently, she nodded. Olivia didn’t feel exceptionally hungry, but she also couldn’t recall the last time she’d had a proper meal. “What about you?”

“I love food. The more questionable the nutritional value, the better.”

“Like cheesy chips from a greasy spoon?” 

“You eat nachos with a greasy spoon?” he asked, staring at her bewildered.

The question caught Olivia so off-guard she started laughing. “God, no. It’s regional slang. In the UK, crisps are chips, chips are fries, and a greasy spoon is like a hole in the wall diner. Fried foods. Suspect cleanliness. Cheap,” she explained.

He laughed. “Either way, sounds perfect.”

Then a brief silence hung between them as they shared a smile. The tension around his eyes had finally relaxed some.

“Are you alright?” Olivia asked.

“I’m better than I was.” He considered her a moment as if trying to make sense of why she cared. “If I leave you here, for about an hour, will you be alright?”

Olivia swallowed and glanced around. The lighting was dim, heavy curtains hung over the only window. There was a large bed, a dresser with a lamp on it, and an armchair. The room was functional but impersonal, and despite feeling sterile, clearly not a hospital room. 

“This is my safe house,” Luciel added at her hesitance. “You’ll be safe here. I promise.” 

There was a sinking sensation in her chest. “Is this where I’ll be staying?”

Luciel tilted his head. “It can be if that’s what you decide in the end, but I know you’d rather not run and hide or have me stage your death, so I won’t insist upon either.” 

Olivia started, but he continued.

“I’ve given this a lot of consideration. What I’d like to do won’t be as clean, but it’ll give us both what we want.”

“I assume we have a lot to discuss then.”

“We do,” he agreed. “And everything that’s happened—you deserve to be angry. But you also deserve to be free from it. You, and everyone else that the Prime Minister has wronged.”

Luciel gave her a tired smirk. “I would be—no better than him if I sent you away and forced you to accept it.”

She scoffed in the back of her throat. “I beg to differ. Even if you did, I’d still be breathing, and you obviously care that I keep doing so.”

“When then, while I’m being obvious about how much I care,” Luciel began in a light tone as he stood and approached the bed. He sat down next to her and glanced down at his shoes. Olivia took advantage of the opportunity to take him in; his distinctive red hair and sharp cheekbones, the yellow and grey stripes on his glasses, his thin lips and the precise lines of his jaw. 

He turned toward her and somewhat awkwardly handed over the mobile he’d been fiddling with. “I took the liberty of replacing your phone. The number is different, and it’s about a million times more secure than your old one, but I transferred over any data I thought you’d need, including—certain voicemails and text conversations.”

She tried to swallow down the hard lump suddenly in her throat. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “For the time being, I’d rather you not contact anyone besides myself, or Unknown if you can’t reach me for some reason. I put his direct line in there just in case.”

Her cheekbones ached from the effort it took not to cry. “You don’t need to worry about that. I don’t—have anyone left who would look for me.”

His expression wavered; something indecipherable in it as he stared at her. “That’s not true,” he said quietly. “I would have looked.”

She sat still for a moment, absorbing it, before making a choking sound as she burst into tears. It was like a dam breaking. Once she started, she couldn’t stop, and he didn’t try to make her stop. Luciel just cautiously slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her into him, let her cry until she had cried herself out.

“Feel better?” he asked when she was breathing evenly again. 

Olivia eased herself out of his embrace and let out a low sigh. His hand was still wrapped around her wrist, and his face was just inches from hers. 

Luciel was startlingly handsome. 

“I do,” she said.

“I’m glad making you cry helped,” he joked; the corner of his mouth curling up, but his gaze remained concerned. 

“You’re helping.” 

His fingers tightened around her wrist, then he released her and shifted away. Luciel started to shake his head. 

“This place is pretty isolated, so you can go outside, but just don’t go too far. Or if you’re feeling up to it, there’s a shower. Whatever you do, even if it’s just rest, make sure you take a dose of ibuprofen and pain relief first. It’s in the bathroom, but I can get it for you if you’d like.”

“No, thanks. Figuring it out will give me a better idea of what my limitations will be.”

“Ok, but just—be careful. I have to go, but I promise I’ll be back within an hour.” 

“I trust you,” she said. 

The crooked half-smile that twisted his lips then was almost bitter. He left without another word. 

Once the door clicked shut, Olivia explored the small house. There was nothing more to it than what immediately met the eye. It consisted of two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a large open room that served as a den, dining area, and kitchen. Minimal furniture, plenty of first aid supplies and nonperishable food; nothing to denote who may own any of it. 

She peeked out the window above the kitchen sink. There was an uprooted tree in a thicket of ferns just shy of some woods. It was midday. She let the curtain fall back into place. 

Releasing the childproof mechanisms on the pill containers was tricky. She had a hard time gripping them tight enough to give herself the necessary leverage, but she managed. After taking the medication, Olivia drank three bottles of water as she slowly nibbled on a protein bar. The split-second she finished it, exhaustion reached up and swallowed her. A shower would have to wait as much as she wanted one. 

She curled back up in bed and tucked her face into her shoulder, breathing in the citrus and oakmoss and atmospheric warmth lingering there from burrowing against Luciel. 

It made her feel better. 

She tried not to think about how pathetic that made her. 

She did anyway. 

_______________________________________________________________________________

The drive was not as relaxing as it should have been. 

Even giving Vanderwood shit for caring enough to continue helping out didn’t make Seven feel any better. 

What had helped, was returning to find Olivia had eaten something before drifting back off to sleep.

He put the unreasonable amount of sushi he had requested for her in the fridge, set the overnight bag full of her belongings in the bathroom, then took a long shower. The hot water beating down and radiating around him did little to ease the tension. 

Afterward, Seven did some research before resuming his vigil. He hadn’t slept in days, but there was no repose to be had with Olivia as a constant in his head.

He stared at her sleeping form, his eyebrows furrowing as he studied her, his mouth set in a thin, flat line. There were things she needed to know, and other things she didn’t but being informed of them would help her make sense of it all. Seven did not want to drag her deeper into this than necessary. However, he also could not ask her to simply trust him, not anymore. 

And yet Olivia had said she did. 

He kept getting stuck on that and looping back over it all, again and again, finding no apparent reason why she should. 

Eventually, a pounding materialized at the base of his skull that threatened to build into a full-blown migraine. Seven sagged back in the chair and gave a low sigh. 

He blinked and found the bed empty. 

A palpable sense of horror shot through him as his mind abruptly jerked from hazy disorientation to awake. Seven almost sprang from the chair but stilled when he noticed the blanket Olivia had been wrapped up in was draped over him. 

Movement; he could hear Olivia in the other room, the creak of a chair, then silence. 

He slumped down with relief and dragged a hand over his face. Then he reached for his phone, taking a look at the time on display there. It was late, nearly midnight. Seven waited a few minutes for his heart rate to calm before slowly getting to his feet. 

Olivia was sitting at the table, eating. She was wearing different clothes, and he could tell she’d showered. Her hair was still damp. When she saw him leaning against the door frame, her smile was slow and did silly, inappropriate things to his heart.

“I hope you don’t expect me to eat all of this by myself.”

Seven shook his head. “I just didn’t know what you’d prefer. How’s your arm?” 

She momentarily lifted the chopsticks in a sort of shrug. “Moving it isn’t terrible. It just feels sort of—lethargic or delayed. If that makes any sense. It’s less frustrating to have it in the sling.”

Seven sighed as he moved to join her. “I’ve already compiled a list of specialists. We can narrow it down together.” 

“This isn’t your problem. Don’t force yourself to be more involved with me than necessary because you feel obliged in some way.”

One hand gripping the back of a chair, he stiffened as though the words had struck him. “No. That’s not—I don’t—“

Her lips curved again, but it was not her real smile. It was wry and slightly distant. Seven hated it. 

“You blame yourself,” she said. “It’s rather obvious.” 

His cheeks grew hot even as a coldness passed through him. He sat down. “I assumed once you handed over your father’s intellectual rights to C&R that you’d be safe since it’d be impossible for the Prime Minister to squash the project’s progression at that point. Plus, given the boost C&R received in the market after the announcement, I thought he had invited you to what was clearly a lobbyist event to garner your support. It didn’t occur to me that he would want to kill you out of spite,” Seven said in a tone that was half plea and half vow.

“The chosen circumstances were more surprising to me than the confirmation it was going to happen,” Olivia muttered, picking through the sushi as if uncertain about which roll she wanted to select next. 

A throbbing sense of grief bloomed in his chest.

She shifted uncomfortably. “Anyway. I just needed to say that, at least once. Because I appreciate the help, I really do, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

“I don’t,” he insisted. 

Olivia looked at him. She didn’t say anything; she just studied him. Her brilliant blue eyes intent as though she were weighing and measuring who he was.

After a minute, she spoke: “Then, as you said, we’ll narrow it down together.”

“Ok. Good. Thank you,” Seven said, relieved at how she seemed to regard the matter closed. Just a few seconds prior, he had been thinking about how he couldn’t tell Olivia that she was—to him she was—

It was asinine. 

She wouldn’t understand. 

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Though it seems I should be the one thanking you. How did you get some of my belongings?” 

“We intercepted the delivery to your new place. It was simple enough to change the logs. The rest of it is at my warehouse, but Vanderwood agreed to meet to hand some of it off as well as bring food.” 

She handed over a bottle of water and a pair of chopsticks. “Who’s Vanderwood?” 

“Ah. It’s an old alias of Stark’s that I refuse to let die.” 

“I’m sure he loves that,” Olivia said snorting. 

“He gives big smothering hugs when he hears it.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Seven chuckled. “Please do.” 

“So then, Luciel,” she began, giving him a long look.

He raised an eyebrow. “It’s my baptismal name,” Seven told her, then plucked a roll from the container. 

“Right,” she said, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “Since I’m not running away or dying, I assume you expect me to continue on as if nothing happened at the party.”

Chewing down a bite, he slowly nodded. 

“How is that going to work?”

Seven swallowed then took a drink of water. “I’m not sure exactly. Some details will be out of our control,” he admitted, somewhat reluctantly. “But, you wouldn’t be the first person who’s decided aligning with him was better than dying.”

Olivia looked unimpressed. “Perhaps, but I’d rather not.” 

“No, I didn’t figure you would, but we could set up an impasse between the two of you. As I said, it won’t be as clean, but it’ll allow you to stay.” 

She stared at him for several seconds and sighed. “You know what my reasons are; why I’m willing to do this, but what about you? Why are you willing to put me at risk?”

His mouth twisted. “I’m not. But the alternative—“ Seven hesitated for a moment. “Unknown—is my twin brother. Almost a year and a half ago, the Prime Minister tried, and nearly succeeded at killing him. As far as he’s aware, Ray died alongside the eleven civilians that also got caught in the inferno. We were quite thorough in tampering with the evidence so he’d buy into it. Outside of those of us who work with Ray, only his girlfriend knows he survived. She thinks he is in witness protection. That they’re going to be able to go back to how things were someday.”

“I don’t want—” His throat caught slightly. He cleared it and forced himself to speak evenly. “My brother and I, we are, for all intents and purposes, employees of NIS. However, the work we do is not strictly legal, and therefore we do not exist. If either of us are caught on assignment, we will be labeled traitors and tried as such, or simply eliminated. Due to how deep the corruption surrounding the Prime Minister runs, we were forbidden from going after him for our own protection.” 

Olivia blinked. “Are you allowed to tell me any of this?”

“No. Not at all,” Seven admitted, laughing. “But I'm so beyond caring and you deserve the truth.” 

He glanced down at the sushi. Olivia ate the rolls from left to right. Alternating between the four closest to her. Orderly and predictable.

“I know practically everything about you, while you know nothing about me, and yet here we are, sharing a meal together and acting like what I’ve done to you is forgivable.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” She tapped her chopsticks against the table thoughtfully. “I spent a long time thinking this would get me killed. I knew I was being used, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. The alternative was letting it go and living with the additional pain of knowing I had done nothing. I assume that’s considerably more difficult than risking what little you have left.”

Seven felt himself blush under her knowing gaze.

The corner of her mouth quirked sadly. “I imagine it costs more too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NIS (National Intelligence Service) is the chief intelligence agency of South Korea.


	4. Where Blame Is Due

Over the last several months, Olivia had a target, something to focus on. If she was occupied, she was less aware of her circumstances. It gave her space from the emotional agony. Recounting everything, however, brought it all to the forefront of her mind. It was as if she had been left to die in that SUV after all. The water level was slowly rising, lapping a little higher each minute. There was nothing to do but sit, helplessly wounded with no escape, as it drew over her.

When she neared the events of her departure from the soiree, it felt like she was barely keeping her face above water. Fortunately, Luciel interjected. 

“I can cover the rest of what happened in private.”

It was the first time he had spoken since entering the obscure NIS field office on the outskirts of downtown Seoul, and Olivia glanced over at him reflexively. His mouth and eyes were tense, and she saw his throat contract as he swallowed. Luciel stopped meeting her gaze. 

“It’s unnecessary to make her relive—everything.”

“Of course,” V said, turning his head as if to examine the NIS seal centered on the nearby wall. Then he looked back. A black patch covered his left eye, but the right was a pale green matching his tousled hair. 

“I did not intend to imply otherwise.” The corner of his mouth ticked upward apologetically. “I am truly sorry for the chain of events that has brought you here before me.” 

It was Olivia’s turn to look away; she shrugged one-shouldered. “It is what it is.” 

There was a pause. 

“Like every career politician, Saejoong Choi has spent years consolidating power. Beyond some personal insight into his true character, there had been no reason to suspect him of criminal activity,” V said. “However, after—certain events—“

“I told her what happened to Ray.”

From the opposite side of the table, V stared at Luciel strangely and seriously. 

“She deserved to know,” Luciel added blandly. 

V blinked then smoothed his hand down his tie before redirecting his attention back to Olivia. 

“Needless to say, an attack on one of our own prompted an investigation which led us to Saejoong,” he said. “His crimes are extensive and yet well covered. Even after months of combing through his digital footprint, the evidence we had collected on his involvement would have been circumstantial at best. Not to mention, there are individuals primed at every level to take the fall, rendering even that useless.” 

V cocked his head to the side. “We kept working at it. We needed an airtight case to prevent losing the pieces we did have on top of facing retaliation. It didn’t end up mattering. Saejoong caught wind of our activity, and a warning sent my direction not only partially blinded me but took the life of my fiancée.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Olivia told him. 

“Thank you,” V said, a shadow of a smirk touching his lips. “It took place late last June, but I am still coming to terms with it.” 

“Naturally.”

“Afterward, I shut down the investigation. It was intended to ensure no one else would be put at risk on my account. I see the mistake of that now.” 

Her mouth twisted as she tried to tamp down on the sudden sense of betrayal she felt toward the man before her. Placing blame on V would be oversimplifying things. It was Saejoong Choi’s fault. He’d done this to them both. While V wasn’t necessarily innocent, he didn’t deserve the penalty he was currently paying. 

Olivia could see it, his face was nearly grey with worry and guilt as he stared at her. 

V would never forgive himself for any of it. 

She was trying to formulate an appropriate reply when Luciel said, “Better late than never,” in that now-familiar dry tone of his.

Yet again taken off guard, Olivia glanced over at him. Luciel winked when their gazes locked, and despite herself, Olivia felt the corners of her eyes crinkle as she stared at him. 

V, for his part, gave a low sigh, and his shoulders dropped. “Be that as it may, we have a lot of variables to address in a very short amount of time if we are to use what happened on Jeju to our advantage. Starting with this meeting that you have scheduled for Ms. Lee.” 

“Please, call me Olivia.” 

He was quiet for a moment as he looked her over. It was not a professional request, and if she had learned anything over the past several days, it was that she was dealing with professionals. However, after her encounter with Saejoong, the use of her surname set her on edge. 

She lifted her chin. “It just seems odd to be addressed so formally given my inclusion. And assuming neither of us dies as we progress, I’m guessing we’re going to be around each other regularly.”

“You make valid points, Olivia,” V conceded. Then he glanced down at his watch to check the time. “But as I was saying, your meeting with the C&R Director will give us better insight  on how to best move forward.  How much of what happened has been contained by the Prime Minister and by us?”

“Enough for her to have a decent amount of control over the narrative,” Luciel told him. 

V tilted his head, looking thoughtful, then pulled out a narrow file from the bottom of the stack before him. He handed it to Olivia. 

“Some light reading for your drive,” he said. “C&R has had their own issues with the Prime Minister, coincidentally your partnership with them helped derail the intended backlash. The details of it should give you an advantage.” 

Olivia nodded stiffly. “I’ll do what I can.” 

His mouth curved into a slow smile. “You have shown incredible ingenuity and determination over the past few months, I trust you will exceed beyond expectation.”

“And you won’t be alone,” Luciel said, almost as if to remind her of his promise. 

“No, she won’t. However, it cannot be you. If you had gone about this differently, perhaps we could have managed something else, but you didn’t.” V raised an eyebrow. “While she is out solidifying the state of things, you and I will have that private discussion.”

V then stood and buttoned his jacket. “Olivia, if you could come with me, I will introduce you to your escort.” 

“Of course,” replied Olivia, casting a final glance at Luciel before moving to follow V out of the room. 

The warmth in him had vanished; his eyes were colder than Olivia had ever thought possible.

She wasn’t stupid. She knew there was a lot more contributing to the current situation than what they had each individually decided to disclose to her. However, the antagonism between them made Olivia quite curious about what it was precisely that drove Luciel to place the blame squarely on V’s shoulders. 

When Luciel noticed her looking at him, the corners of his mouth curled faintly. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

She nodded but couldn’t quite manage a return smile. This whole thing was not only about her, but Luciel had become a grounding presence. 

They had not spent more than perhaps a collective day together where they were both conscious, and yet it felt as if she knew him. Instinctively, at least. Luciel had veered wildly between giving her space and seeming hellbent on learning every little detail about her. In the process of trying to understand the behavior, Olivia had discovered they shared plenty of interests beyond what had brought them together. 

But it didn’t matter. She had a job. How she felt didn’t matter. She had a job. 

If she failed, someone else could suffer, or they could send her away, and then she’d just be alone again.

Olivia turned and followed V out of the corner office. He was silent as he led her through “the bunker.” He seemed only partially present, as though his mind was elsewhere, which was a relief. Olivia wasn’t sure what she would have done if he had attempted to be conversational. As it was, she was trying to shove everything away again, back into the giant crater left behind by her loss. 

One day, this would all be over. 

It was just a matter of getting from here to there. 

As they rounded the corner into the central hallway, Olivia saw a young man with shaggy blond hair off to the right. His crisp linen shirt was tucked into black slacks. There was no trace of confusion in his expression, yet he appeared conflicted when he caught her eye.

Olivia wondered if he, too, knew more than she did.

She averted her gaze. Most of the walls were made of slightly-tinted plate glass, giving the underground facility a less suffocating feel than Olivia had anticipated. Privacy concerns must be a non-issue since outside of that man, the only other person she had seen was the blonde receptionist stationed outside of V’s office. But then they passed what had to be a load-bearing wall as it was made of concrete, and a black-haired man came into view. 

The moment he took notice of them, he left his desk behind to join them in the hall. Like V, the man was tall and slender, but that was where the similarities ended. The newcomer had dark, analytical eyes and carried himself in a self-confident manner. 

“Ms. Lee, I presume.”

“Olivia, if you would,” corrected V.

“My apologies, Olivia. My name is Han. Jumin Han,” he said, extending his hand, and she took it. 

“A pleasure, Mr. Han.”

“I’m afraid I’ll also have to insist upon abandoning formalities,” Jumin said, releasing her hand to adjust the cuff of his sleeve.

”Of course, Jumin,” she allowed. “Though I wish we were meeting under less awkward circumstances.”

“On the contrary, for me, it is only another mundane day of working alongside V.”

Olivia gave an amused exhale out of her nose. “While we’re out, I’ll try to ditch you or something to keep you from being bored to death.”

Jumin looked pleased, while V smiled faintly and said, “Please don’t. I have enough to worry about at the moment.”

She tilted her head in acquiesce, and he seemed to relax a little. 

“If I could send Luciel with you, I would,” V continued. “He does have amazing skills, and I respect the trust generated while facing a crisis together. However, as it is not an option, I hope you will extend similar trust to me when I say you will be safe in Jumin’s care. He has the resources to make things happen. You can rely on him for support in the upcoming task, and if it comes to it, in an emergency. I trust Jumin with my life.”

“You are too kind, V,” Jumin said.

“Nonsense, I speak only the truth,” V insisted, smiling warmly when he met her gaze once more. “I promise, after this, we will get you settled here and finalize your living arrangements. Welcome to the RFA, Olivia.” 

“Thank you,” she said, then walked with Jumin down the rest of the hallway to the elevator lobby. A small 15’x15’ area which housed nothing other than a decorative rug. He swiped his badge then punched in a code to call the elevator. 

“What does the RFA stand for?”

“Reconnaissance and Feasibility Alliance,” Jumin told her. “We are funded by money funneled through NIS, and a few of us have official positions within the agency. We are comprised of V, the leader of our little organization, two elite agents, of which I am one, supplemented by intelligence and technological experts, the twins, and minimal support staff. We are tasked with preventing international fallout as it pertains to South Korea. Corruption, terrorism, and the like.” 

The doors opened, and Olivia hummed an acknowledgment, filing the information away for later reflection. As they began to ascend, Jumin angled his body toward her; she mirrored the movement, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. He seemed to be considering something. 

“Do you like cats, Olivia?”

_______________________________________________________________________________

The room seemed to shrink in size as Seven waited. He knew what V was going to say. He was almost certain of it. The worst part was that he didn’t really blame V for feeling the need to drive the point home.

That Olivia was never really alone on Jeju was a paltry defense. The emotional strain alone— 

She’ll never be able to scull again, Seven realized suddenly. The injury was already unforgivable, but now— Now, the guilt was sure to eat him alive.

Abruptly, V strode back in and stopped several feet away. “Why? Why the need to take her so far?”

Seven smirked and raised a brow. “Because she’s cute.”

V stared at him, and eventually, his smile faded. Seven looked away toward the NIS seal.  _ Anonymous dedication to freedom and truth.  _ He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. 

“Because unlike you and I, he took everything away from her.”

V flinched.

“She deserved to know who and why, and what was I supposed to do? Deny her that?”

“Why is a question we may never be able to answer for her,” V told him. 

“Well, at least there’s a chance at it now. Plus, as you said yourself, she has shown remarkable ingenuity and determination.” Seven’s voice was light. Then lightness subsided. “By the time I got a handle on the restructure and stumbled onto the amounts paid to Rallington’s family for services rendered, Olivia had already traced one of the unknown drug compounds. It led her to a biotechnology firm called Horizons. Reaching out to her—I was trying to keep her safe. Keep what she had discovered hidden; help her approach from a less obvious angle while we looked into the bigger picture."

“You should have come to me,” V stated evenly. “About your unrest, about what he did to her family, or at the very least, about this alarming endeavor of his into suggestive drug development—“

“Christ, V. Would you have even answered my call? You’re hardly around anymore. I get losing Rika was difficult, but it was difficult for all of us. If we had just stuck together and finished the job, none of this would have happened to Olivia.” Seven released a sharp exhale. “Not to mention, Saeran seems to be living out of sheer obligation now.” 

V paled, but didn’t back down; didn’t waver. “You could have been killed; Olivia almost was. You should have come to me first. I would have listened.”

His posture shifted slightly. “People are not reusable pieces on a chessboard, Luciel. Even if we do everything possible to protect her, the enemy will not always do as predicted, or play by the rules.”

“I don’t—“ Seven started and then paused and pressed his lips together. He tipped his head slightly and felt the tension in his neck twinge. “I’m well aware of how he operates.  _ That _ is why I should be the one with her.”

“That you are not  _ isn’t _ a punishment,” V insisted. “It’s for your protection as much as it is for Olivia’s. He’ll be watching her—probably throughout the unforeseeable future—and your presence at her side could place her in more danger.”

Seven was silent. 

It was as though his heart were slowly folding in on itself. 

V looked down and appeared to be studying the polish on his shoes. “If I could do better, I would.” 

“I know,” Seven muttered. 

At that, V looked up and gave a small smile. “With any luck, we can rest Olivia’s survival on the C&R Director’s known tendency to be overly cautious in security matters. Then you might get what you want after all.” 

Seven looked away. “Doubtful,” he said, then sighed. “Do you really need me to cover the extraction?” 

“No. Ray’s and Stark’s accounts were sufficient."

“Then, can I go now?” 

“Of course,” V replied quietly. 

Seven was almost out of the room when V added, “I am truly sorry, Luciel. I never meant for any of this to happen. I was only doing what I thought was best.” 

“Right,” Seven said, his voice barely a whisper. 

He quickly walked out of the door and down the hall to the steel one a short distance away. Within seconds he was through the unnecessary and sparsely furnished anteroom and in the portion of the bunker designated for himself and his brother. Out of the corner of his eye, Seven perceived movement. Off in his—cell. 

The large, open room smelled nice and clean. His tools and miscellaneous projects were all shelved away. Not a single crumb or speck of dust on any surface, and it looked like Mrs. Kim had even waxed the floors. Saeran was seated at Seven’s desk in the raised area, and Vanderwood was stocking the mini-fridge with Ph.D. Pepper; both avoided meeting his gaze. 

“I’m sorry—for what I said about you,” Seven said. He should have anticipated Saeran hacking into V’s computer to listen in. They used to do it all the time when they were younger simply because they could. 

“Don’t be.” Saeran crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. He turned his head as if to conceal the scarring splashed across the left side of his face. A constant reminder of the price he had paid for no reason. 

“I was upset, but only because it isn’t a lie.” Saeran exhaled slowly and finally met his gaze. “Anyway, I asked Jumin to put a GPS device on her. It’s already online, and I’ve been working on getting you into C&R while you were otherwise occupied. You’ll still be there, in a way.”

Absently, Seven nodded. “Thanks,” he said. “For that and for everything over the last week. You too, Stark.”

Vanderwood frowned severely. “Now that you’ve finally said it, I think I hate this one too.” 

Seven felt himself smile, and Saeran chuckled. 

“I’m glad you talked me into this,” Saeran said. “It’s easy for V to look back and point out all the things we did wrong, but moving forward…”

Saeran was quiet for a moment, his eyes—the eyes they shared—were far away as though he were in a dream. Then they cleared. 

“There’s a life waiting for you on the other side of this, too,” he said after studying Seven for several seconds. 

Seven blinked. He wanted—

He wanted—

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter what he wanted. It never mattered.

He just wanted her to live. That would be enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan on pulling a lot of OCs/pairings from the joint AU ([A Chance at Happiness](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1296047)) I have with my good friend rosegold to build this universe. Keep the RFA "intact" but still maintain some of the associated elements. Thus, rosegold's OC Poppy Owens will be my C&R Director, who I'll introduce next chapter 🙃

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks for reading! ♥️


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